Shall leave his native channel, and o'er-swell
With course disturb'd even thy confining shores,
Unless thou let his silver water keep

A peaceful progress to the ocean.

K. Phi. England, thou hast not sav'd one drop of blood,
In this hot trial, more than we of France;
Rather, lost more: and by this hand I swear,
That sways the earth this climate overlooks,
Before we will lay down our just-borne arms,

We'll put thee down, 'gainst whom these arms we bear,
Or add a royal number to the dead,

Gracing the scroll, that tells of this war's loss,
With slaughter coupled to the name of kings.

Faul. Ha, majesty! how high thy glory towers,
When the rich blood of kings is set on fire!
Why stand these royal fronts amazéd thus?
Cry, havock, kings! back to the stainéd field,
You equal potents, fiery-kindled spirits!

Then let confusion of one part confirm

The other's peace; till then, blows, blood, and death!
K. John. Whose party do the townsmen yet admit?
K. Phi. Speak, citizens, for England; who's your king?
1 Cit. The king of England, when we know the king.
K. Phi. Know him in us, that here hold up his right.
K. John. In us, that are our own great deputy,
And bear possession of our person here;

Lord of our presence, Angiers, and of you.

1 Cit. A greater power than we denies all this; And, till it be undoubted, we do lock

Our former scruple in our strong-barr'd_gates;
King'd of our fears, until our fears, resolv'd,

Be by some certain king purg'd and depos'd.

Faul. By heaven, these scroyles* of Angiers flout you, kings, And stand securely on their battlements,

As in a theatre, whence they gape and point
At your industrious scenes and acts of death.
Your royal presences be rul'd by me:—
Be friends awhile, and both conjointly bend
Your sharpest deeds of malice on this town:
By east and west let France and England mount
Their battering cannon, charged to the mouths,
Till their soul-fearing clamors have brawl'd down
The flinty ribs of this contemptuous city:
I'd play incessantly upon these jades,
Even till unfenced desolation

Leave them as naked as the vulgar air.
That done, dissever your united strengths,
And part your mingled colors once again;

* Scroyles, mean fellows.

Turn face to face, and bloody point to point;
Then, in a moment, fortune shall cull forth
Out of one side her happy minion,

To whom in favor she shall give the day
And kiss him with a glorious victory.

How like you this wild counsel, mighty states?

Smacks it not something of the policy?

K. John. Now, by the sky that hangs above our heads,
I like it well.-France, shall we knit our powers
And lay this Angiers even with the ground;

Then, after, fight who shall be king of it?

Faul. An if thou hast the mettle of a king,-Being wrong'd, as we are, by this peevish town,— Turn thou the mouth of thy artillery,

As we will ours, against these saucy walls;

And when that we have dash'd them to the ground,
Why, then defy each other.

K. Phi. Let it be so.-Say, where will you assault?
K. John. We from the west will send destruction
Into this city's bosom.

Aust. I from the north.

K. Phi.

Our thunder from the south,

Shall rain their drift of bullets on this town.

Faul. [Aside.] O, prudent discipline! From north to south, Austria and France shoot in each other's mouth :

I'll stir them to it.-Come, away, away!

1 Cit. Hear us, great kings: vouchsafe a while to stay, And I shall show you peace, and fair-fac'd league; Win you this city without stroke, or wound;

Rescue those breathing lives to die in beds,

That here come sacrifices for the field:

Perséver not, but hear me, mighty kings.

K. John. Speak on, with favor; we are bent to hear.
Cit. That daughter there of Spain, the lady Blanch,

Is near to England:-look upon the years

Of Lewis the Dauphin, and that lovely maid.
O, two such silver currents, when they join,

Do glorify the banks that bound them in;

And two such shores to two such streams made one,
Two such controlling bounds shall you be, kings,
To these two princes, if you marry them.
This union shall do more than battery can
To our fast-closed gates; for, at this match,
With swifter spleen than powder can enforce,
The mouth of passage shall we fling wide ope,
And give you entrance: but without this match,
The sea enraged is not half so deaf,
Lions more confident, mountains and rocks

More free from motion; no, not death himself
In mortal fury half so peremptory,

As we to keep the city.

That shakes the rotten carcase of old death

Out of his rags! Here's a large mouth, indeed,
That spits forth death and mountains, rocks and seas;
Talks as familiarly of roaring lions,

As maids of thirteen do of puppy-dogs!

What cannoneer father'd this lusty blood?

He speaks plain cannon,-fire and smoke and bounce;
He gives the bastinado with his tongue;

Our ears are cudgell'd; not a word of his,
But buffets better than a fist of France;

Zounds! I was never so bethumped with words,
Since I first called my brother's father dad.

Eli. Son, list to this conjunction, make this match;
Give with our niece a dowry large enough:

For by this knot thou shalt so surely tie

Thy now unsur'd assurance to the crown,

That yond' green boy shall have no sun to ripe
The bloom that promiseth a mighty fruit.

I see a yielding in the looks of France;

Mark, how they whisper: urge them while their souls
Are capable of this ambition,

Lest zeal, now melted by the windy breath

Of soft petitions, pity, and remorse,

Cool and congeal again to what it was.

Cit. Why answer not the double majesties

This friendly treaty of our threaten'd town?

K. Phi. Speak England first, that hath been forward first

To speak unto this city: what say you?

K. John. If that the Dauphin there, thy princely son,

Can in this book of beauty read, "I love,"

Her dowry shall weigh equal with a queen:

For Anjou, and fair Touraine, Maine, Poictiers,

And all that we upon this side the sea

(Except this city now by us besieg'd)

Find liable to our crown and dignity,

Shall gild her bridal bed; and make her rich

In titles, honors, and promotions,

As she in beauty, education, blood,

Holds hand with any princess of the world.

K. Phi. What say'st thou, boy? look in the lady's face.
Lew. I do, my lord; and in her eye I find

A wonder, or a wondrous miracle,
The shadow of myself form'd in her eye;
Which, being but the shadow of your son,

Becomes a sun, and makes your son a shadow;
I do protest, I never lov'd myself,

Till now infixed I beheld myself

Drawn in the flattering table of her eye.

[Whispers with BLANCH. Faul. Drawn in the flattering table of her eye!Hang'd in the frowning wrinkle of her brow!And quarter'd in her heart!—he doth espy

Himself love's traitor:-this is pity now,

That, hang'd and drawn and quarter'd, there should be,
In such a love, so vile a lout as he.

K. John. What say these young ones?-What say you, my niece?

Blanch. That she is bound in honor still to do

What you in wisdom still vouchsafe to say.

K. John. Speak then, prince Dauphin; can you love this lady? Lew. Nay, ask me if I can refrain from love;

For I do love her most unfeignedly.

K. John. Philip of France, if thou be pleas'd withal,

Command thy son and daughter to join hands.

K. Phi. It likes us well.-Young princes, close your hands. Now, citizens of Angiers, ope your gates,

Let in that amity which you have made;
For at saint Mary's chapel presently
The rites of marriage shall be solemnized.-
Is not the lady Constance in this troop?

I know she is not; for this match, made up,

Her presence would have interrupted much:

Where is she and her son? tell me, who knows.

Lew. She is sad and passionate at your highness' tent.

K. Phi. And, by my faith, this league, that we have made,

Will give her sadness very little cure.

Brother of England, how may we content

This widow lady? In her right we came;

Which we, heaven knows, have turn'd another way,

To our own vantage.

K. John.

We will heal up all;

For we'll create young Arthur duke of Bretagne
And earl of Richmond; and this rich fair town
We make him lord of.-Call the lady Constance;
Some speedy messenger bid her repair
To our solemnity :-I trust we shall,
If not fill up the measure of her will,
Yet in some measure satisfy her so,
That we shall stop her exclamation.
Go we, as well as haste will suffer us,
To this unlook'd for unprepared pomp.

[Exeunt all except FAULCONBRIDGE. The Citizens
retire from the walls.

Faul. Mad world! mad kings! mad composition! John, to stop Arthur's title in the whole,

Hath willingly departed with a part;

And France, (whose armor conscience buckled on,
Whom zeal and charity brought to the field
As heaven's own soldier,) rounded in the ear
With that same purpose-changer, that sly devil;
That broker, that still breaks the pate of fate;
That daily break-vow; he that wins of all,

Of kings, of beggars, old men, young men; maids,-
That smooth-faced gentleman, tickling commodity,-
Commodity, the bias of the world;

This all-changing word,

Clapp'd on the outward eye of fickle France,
Hath drawn him from his own determin'd aid,
From a resolv'd and honorable war,

To a most base and vile-concluded peace.
And why rail I on this commodity?

But for because he hath not woo'd me yet:
Not that I have the power to clutch my hand,
When his fair angels would salute my palm;
But for my hand, as unattempted yet,
Like a poor beggar, raileth on the rich.
Well, whiles I am a beggar, I will rail,
And say, There is no sin, but to be rich;
And being rich, my virtue then shall be,
To say, There is no vice, but beggary
Since kings break faith upon commodity,
Gain, be my lord; for I will worship thee!

ACT III. .

SCENE I.-France. The French King's Tent.

Enter CONSTANCE, ARTHUR, and SALISBURY.

Const. Gone to be married! gone to swear a peace! False blood to false blood joined! Gone to be friends! Shall Lewis have Blanch, and Blanch those provinces? It is not so; thou hast misspoke, misheard;

I do not believe thee, man;

I have a king's oath to the contrary.

Thou shalt be punished for thus frightening me,

For I am sick, and capable of fears;

Oppress'd with wrongs, and therefore full of fears;

A widow, husbandless, subject to fears;

A woman naturally born to fears.

What dost thou mean by shaking of thy head?
Why dost thou look so sadly on my son?

[Exit.